Zachaeus
by FirstGradeWriter
Summary: Well hidden within the social hierarchies of Imperial politics, there is an ancient and powerful group of vampires known only as 'The Order'. Their purposes are hidden, their methods cruel, and their identities lost to time. When a long lost artifact surfaces in the cold lands of Skyrim, it is critical enough to draw one of these fabled beasts out of the shadows.
1. Chapter 1: The Beast

Author's Preamble: PLEASE READ

Well this is my first story on FanFiction so I hope it is enjoyable. A few notes before you jump in: First of all, this story is set in the game of Skyrim, but if you haven't noticed from the description it DOES NOT follow any questline. This is because I feel that a good chunk of the stories in the Elder Scrolls section are just regurgitated quests I've played through a million times! So while this story certainly follows cannon, it is a completely separate tale. However you should meet the great Dovakhiin if you make it far enough, and anyone who knows anything about TES will recognize dozens of characters. Avid loremasters and players of Skyrim may also catch much, much more than most people as there are a lot of little easter-eggs that big fans will recognize as well as interaction with and allusions to quests from the game. This story will get a bit graphic but we'll save that for later :-) At present it remains rated T. Lastly this first chapter gets a biiiit promiscuous but I'm not into the whole fanfiction sex thing so don't worry about that. Enjoy!

Now that I've finished several chapters I am adding this statement: If you are reading this story for the first time, at least get through the second chapter. I am well aware that this first chapter is not alight with action. All the same it is a necessary and good chapter. As always, if you read it review. Even if you don't like it!

* * *

**Zachaeus**

Chapter 1: The Beast

The Bee and the Barb was filled far beyond it's capacity. Keerava, the innkeeper, had hardly seen this much coin in the last decade. The escalating civil conflict in Skyrim was driving huge numbers of foreigners away from an already harsh land. Many of them made for the Imperial City of Cyrodiil, while a large portion of Skyrim's Dark Elf population traveled towards their homeland of Morrowind in an attempt to flee their lives of persecution. Thus Riften was a key point in many of the refugee's travels, and they had been receiving plenty of guests from both sides. For even as dozens fled the province every day, dozens more were drawn in. The city quickly filled with adventurers, mercenaries, and even bandits. All looking to strike it rich by taking advantage of the chaos caused by not only the civil war but also the fabled return of the dragons.

Yet through all the anarchy of the inn, no one failed to noticed the entrance of Aleister Zachaeus. He arrived in the first hours of night, so as only the children had already gone to bed. The tavern was still crammed full of far too many bodies, as beggars and soldiers exchanged stories and mothers and widows softened each other's hardships. Suddenly the doors were thrown open. Winds howled into the tavern, bringing with them the icy chill of an approaching blizzard. Curious guests peered into the darkness for a long moment, waiting for whatever lay beyond. In strode a tall, lean man.

Though he may have been fair skinned once, he was now a rugged looking man bearing scars from a lifetime of wandering. His attire couldn't have been any more modest. A dirty and torn brown shirt covered his midsection, while tattered trousers of the same of a darker shade covered his legs. His sleeves left most of his arms exposed, revealing thickly layered muscle, and his boots were those of a working man. Most of his face was obscured by a large fur hood attached to the broad fur cloak that draped over his shoulders. What little of his face was not covered in shadow bore scars to match those on his arms. The doors closed slowly as he entered, lending several guests to begin mumbling about the evil nature of the magical arts. He quickly began weaving through the small crowd to find the innkeeper. Conversation resumed quickly enough, though where the newcomer walked the guests spoke in hushed voices. An aura seemed to surround Aleister and, despite his humble dress, his presence demanded respect and caused no small measure of uneasiness. As Keerava approached the man she held out her hand and shook her head in an exasperated manner.

"I'm sorry but we're full. I've already rented out the cellar and doubled the residents staying in every room," she said in the jagged, grating voice Argonians produce. Without speaking a word or revealing his face, the stranger produced a large coin purse which he then dropped in Keerava's outstretched hand. Keerava nodded slowly as she felt the weight of the gold within. "I'll see what I can do," she stated matter of factly, and walked off. The hooded man found a chair and took it to the most secluded corner to sit and wait. The other guests quickly began to throw suspicious glances towards him. After a rushed conversation with her co-worker Talen-Jei, Keerava returned to her most generous customer.

"You are welcome to stay in my room for the night, sir. All I ask is that you leave my personal belongings as they are," she scratched. "Here's the key. The room is the largest on the upper floor, impossible to miss. Will that be all?" she asked. Aleister nodded. Keerava produced a weak smile and left him to his business.

Across the room, Mjoll the Lioness eyed the Inn's new visitor with barely masked contempt. She felt vileness rolling off him in waves. She'd always had a sort of uncanny sense for malicious intent, and this stranger pricked at her with every step. Perhaps he was a thief, or even an assassin. Whatever the stranger may be, she would be watching him closely.

Meanwhile, under the fold of his hood, Aleister's eyes roamed the room with equal scrutiny. He studied each individual in their turn and when he had finished he rose leisurely and made for his room. Several guests shortly followed his example. As the crowd slowly made its way for the stairs, Mjoll pursued the outsider. She refused to let him leave her sight. She took the steps two at a time. For whatever reason, she felt that as soon as she took her eyes off him someone would be dead. In that regard, she was perhaps not too far from the truth. When she had reached the top of the stairs he was already entering his room.

"Hey! Stranger!" she called out. Aleister spun sharply. Mjoll waited a moment for a response but received none. Mjoll grunted her disapproval and said, "Look, I don't know who you are, nor do I care. What I care about is keeping the city of Riften safe. Let it be known traveller: I have my eyes on you." A chorus of agreement and nods came from onlooking guests.

"I see," said Aleister. His words dripped with honey, soothing the nerves of all those within earshot. Mjoll felt entranced by his voice. She suddenly harbored no resent, and in fact felt quite fond of him. Aleister stepped in close to her, drawing her hips towards him with a gentle arm around her waist. Mjoll's heart fluttered in in her breast as she as she anticipated his every move. Her cheeks flushed red and she exhaled a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She closed her eyes as he whispered softly in her ear. Then Aleister turned abruptly and retreated into his room. Mjoll followed. All those watching exchanged puzzled glances before heading into their own rooms, each of them thoroughly perplexed but not necessarily distrustful. After all, the man had sounded wonderfully nice.

Mjoll closed the doors behind her and turned to face Aleister. Slowly, he removed his hood. Hair as black as night fell perfectly onto his shoulders. His features were sharp, with a distinct jawline, and no facial hair marred the perfect symmetry of Aleister's face. What really captivated were his eyes. They shone a bright crimson at odds with his dark features, yet they were captivating beyond anything Mjoll had ever seen. She trembled weakly as he stepped towards her.

With one hand he tore off her armor as if its straps were made of paper, the other lifting her and gently tossing her onto the mattress. He removed his own shirt as he crawled towards her on the massive bed. His torso was painted with crisscrossing scar tissue. Mjoll traced her finger along a ridge of tissue extending from his lower abdomen and extending up along the side of his abdominal muscles.

"So many scars," she breathed.

"I encountered many things in my journey to Skyrim," Aleister replied. "I do believe I became accustomed to pain for the first time this era," he said thoughtfully. Mjoll did not understand the comment, nor did she care as he tenderly kissed her neck. He deftly removed her bra as he moved his mouth down towards her chest. Her breathing grew heavy and her blood pumped faster and faster. She arched her back in pleasure as Aleister slowly trailed his fingertips down her sides to her hips. He rose up slightly and admired the woman's beauty. She was slender yet toned, with more than substantial breasts. He watched the arteries in her neck throb as her arousal pumped all manner of sweet endorphins and hormones into her blood. He knew that the foreplay was over. It was time to feed.

Aleister Zachaeus drew back his lips, his four canines growing into razor sharp fangs. Mjoll gasped to scream, but it was too late. The vampire bit deeply into her, drawing the blood from her body like the sweetest ambrosia. His own vitality rose sharply as he supped at her lifeblood. Not only could he feel the liquid invigorate him and bring strength to his muscles, but his physical appearance changed dramatically. His muscles swelled, scar tissue reformed into a flawless complexion, and his eyes faded into a dull amber as the blood-starved beast sated his thirst. Lost in the orgy of feeding, he nearly killed his prey.

Finally he pulled away. The taste of tangy, metallic blood still filled his mouth, and some of the gore trickled down his chin. Inclining his face towards the night sky, Aleister released a massive bestial roar. His face began shifting into the form of the beast within, taking on its natural bat and wolflike qualities. The unnatural noise tore at the eardrums of hundreds of frightened mortals, as the sound pervaded throughout the city and beyond. None in the Rift would sleep easy tonight.


	2. Chapter 2: Old Friends and Older Enemies

You made it through that boring first chapter eh? Sweet. Now things start to get killy! You get to see a little of our dear vampire's playful side. Although super fans of the Thieves Guild may not like that… Don't worry no character with a name in the game of Skyrim will die in the story, only randoms! Besides what can I say? The main character is just an evil son' bitch….

* * *

Chapter 2: Old Friends and Older Enemies

Aleister Zachaeus had always held a fondness of the sewers beneath Riften. The residents knew it as the ratway, but he knew it as something far more ancient. Dark things had stirred here once, and these warrens held ghastly secrets. It was no small wonder a settlement had been built atop the sinister stone halls. The vampire breathed the air in deeply, feeling traces of dark magic electrify him. As he moved silently through the tunnels, he thought of his last feast.

The blood had been good and pure. His victim had a certain fiery vitality to her that gave her blood exhilarating qualities. After quickly cleaning up he had cast a simple Illusion spell, gathered his things, and stole away covertly. Lady Mjoll would wake in the morning feeling sluggish but contented, and with absolutely no memory of last night. Initially he had cursed his lack of restraint after his outburst, but now he grinned savagely at the thought of all the children curled up in their beds, frightened for their lives. Besides, he hadn't slaughtered a band of witch hunters for centuries and he looked forward to the possibility.

In minutes he had made his way to the entrance to the Ragged Flagon. The place had never been luxurious by any means, but he could already tell from the door that it had fallen in recent years. The wood was molded and weak, the iron rusted, and the locking mechanism clearly broken. Shaking his head, he flicked a simple muffle spell onto the hinges and strode silently inside. It was nearly one in the morning, but of course the ill-bred denizens of the bar were still wide awake drinking away their woes. None noticed Aleister as he stalked through the shadows. Where he walked, light simply did not exist. He was nothing but a shadow. Nothing but darkness itself. It was a handy magical trick he had picked up from a masterful Illusionist named Massitha several centuries ago in the land of the dark elves. It required less concentration and effort than true invisibility, allowing him to simultaneously muffle his steps. It was essentially the perfect tool for one who sneaks around in the dark.

A cursory glance for his contact proved futile. The dank and poorly lit room held only drunks and the barkeep, Vekel. The latter was busy telling his customers how assuredly he could kill them if they started trouble, which was a likely prospect. Water dripped at a steady pace from several points on the ceiling, and the whole room smelled like sewer. Although that was hardly a surprise given the large pool of sewer water that dominated the chamber…

The vampire shook his head in disgust and moved on to the cistern. Despite being the true home for the infamous Thieves Guild of Riften, the place seemed more like a rundown bunkhouse. This was not what Aleister remembered, and he wondered idly what had changed in the short period of time he had last been here. He quickly eyed each of the small clusters of thieves milling and chatting about, the largest of which was playing some raucous and unruly game of cards. Again, no luck in locating his quarry. He sneered in frustration. Time to try another tactic: showmanship.

He approached the center of the large circular chamber. Simultaneously, he broke his Illusion spells and exploded into a massive chittering swarm of bats. Hundreds of the small black creatures screeched and flew in aimless circles, gnashing their fangs in a frightening display. The few clusters of guild members immediately ceased their chatter and drew arms in shock. They looked nervously at each other, unsure of how to proceed. They were given no time to react. All at once, the bats themselves burst into an insubstantial black smoke. The smoke drew in, blowing around in circles as if caught in a gale. Finally it came to rest, giving form to a human figure. Aleister smiled under his hood as he took in the stunned expressions around him. He loved to show the cattle how truly insignificant they were.

"Where is Gallus Desidenius?" Aleister boomed through the chamber. Mercer Frey was the first to shake off his astonishment, and answered assuredly.

"He's dead," he stated dryly. "Now identify yourself or be killed." Aleister merely chuckled.

"Mortals," he muttered softly. "I am afraid your late master owed me a great debt in life, Thief. As I assume you are now in charge, that debt falls to you," Aleister explained tersely. "I intend to collect."

"Once again, I ask you simply to identify yourself. You are in my home. You will show some respect, or I will kill you," Frey spoke through gritted teeth. He raised a hand as a signal to the two archers around the Cistern. They quickly drew back their bows. "And in response to whatever bullshit you're spouting, you can go to Oblivion. I'm not some lackey to be pushed around, understand?" As he spoke Mercer grew more and more worked up, raising his voice and stepping slowly towards Aleister, hand still raised. "Gallus may have been weak, but I'll not take this nonsense!" he continued. "Now tell me, who are you?!" The vampire could not help but grin. He couldn't remember what emotions such as frustration and anger had felt like, but he found it slightly amusing none the less.

"Very well," Aleister answered, drawing back his hood. "I am Aleister Zachaeus, Lord of the Night and leader of the Cyrodiilic Order of Vampires. I come to Skyrim in search of an artifact, and I have come here strictly for business," he hissed venomously. "After all, your guild has a rather infamous reputation for its ability to acquire objects of value," He finished. Frey visibly relaxed, though his hand remained raised, and the archer's bow strings remained taught.

A cocky smile found its way onto Mercer's face as he responded. "That's more like it. Now-" The vampire cut him off with a swift step that brought him within inches of the man. Mercer's expression wavered.

"Bastard cur," spoke Aleister softly.

Frey barked sharply and dropped his hand. Aleister didn't even flinch. The two arrows hurtled blindingly fast towards his cold heart, crossing the small room in less than half a second. The ancient vampire's reactions were far faster. With a flick of his hand the shaft of each arrow detonated in flashes of crackling red lightning, leaving them to clatter in splinters to the floor. He then plowed into the first assailant in a cloud of smoke and bats, crossing the distance between them faster than the human eye could follow. At the moment of collision, blood red lightning sparked through the smoke. When the conflagration dissipated, nothing was left of the thief but bones and ash. Even as Mercer Frey gazed slack jawed at the skull of his pupil, the vampire materialised behind the second archer. With a feral snarl, the beast sank his teeth into the elf's throat. She gasped as her life was drained from her in mere seconds, drawing Mercer's gaze to this next horror. He watched as the fluid was drained from her body. Her skin became pale and tightened over increasingly frail bones, looking as thin and worn as old parchment. Her eyes sank deep into their sockets, and her skin wrinkled as it stretched thin over her face. She looked as if she had been dead for months before her corpse even hit the ground.

In the next instant Aleister had returned to where he was only moments ago: inches from Mercer Frey's shocked visage. "As I said, I am here strictly for business. So allow me to enlighten you as to how I prefer to conduct my business," he snarled. "You do as I say, and hope that I don't kill you slowly," Aleister finished with a cruel smile. Frey was still in shock, his eyes torn between the monster before him, and the grisly remains of his former guild members. The others in the room that remained alive either stood in silent panic of averted their eyes completely. "Now, what can you tell me about a dwemer artifact called Keening?"

"Never heard of it," piped Frey. Aleister Zachaeus grunted.

"I can smell the lie on your putrid breath, mortal." The fingernails of his right hand grew into razor sharp talons, which he placed at the master thief's throat. "Do not tempt me with your life, wretch."

"Alright, alright! I heard of a shipment going to the College up in Winterhold a few weeks ago. It was addressed to some guy, Arniel I think. Had all sorts of Dwemer crap in it, maybe even what you're looking for. We tried to hijack the caravan but the thing was better guarded than the Imperial throne room," he explained. Mercer Frey paused, unsure if he should continue. "What's all the fuss about this thing anyway?"

Aleister mulled over the news. The College of Winterhold had no love for his kind, and their last interaction with The Order had been a deadly encounter. One of the few places in all of Tamriel where he had no influence and they knew his identity. Wonderful. Mercer Frey waited intently for his answer.

"Leave that to me," Zachaeus said dismissively. With a wave of his hand he hurled Mercer across the chamber, where he smashed into a pile of useless clutter with startling force. The other guild members jumped and readied themselves for a fight.

"No!" coughed Frey. "Leave him."

_As if they had a choice_, thought the vampire. With a charming wink in Saphire's direction, Zachaeus burst once more into smoke, this time with a flash of red flame, and disappeared into the night. _It's good to be dead_, he mused.


	3. Chapter 3: The Skeever-Hole of Society

Well the release of this chapter can be credited to Rae An! Thank you for the review. This Chapter makes up a bit of its own lore in the beginning, but its my story deal with it. Besides nothing is at all contradictory, it all meshes nicely. Now, get ready for a little more death, and also the criminal underworld! Mwuahahaha!

* * *

Chapter 3: The Skeever-Hole of Society

Aleister was far from pleased. He had hardly worn any expression other than a stale grimace since his encounter with the Thieves Guild, and that was hours ago. The College of Winterhold was quite literally the last place in all of Skyrim he would have hoped to have to go. That idiot Savos Aren had refused any and all aid from The Order following the great collapse. He claimed that any help given would only result in a great debt he would one day be called upon for. He was not wrong. Several members of the High Court within The Order continued to harass the young Arch Mage, underestimating his fortitude. The knew that having such a powerful mage under their orders would be a great strength. Tensions grew to a point that Savos revealed he had knowledge of The Order's true identities as vampires and threatened to reveal them. The ancient and proud vampires bristled against this, and began nothing less than an all out assault on the weakened College. The mages defenses were formidable, and many of the lesser vampires and their servants were destroyed. When the Court realized they had gotten in over their heads, they looked to their master. Lord Zachaeus was awoken from a decade of slumber to negotiate with the mages. Henceforth, no vampires would be allowed on College grounds, and no dealings would be made with their kind.

So, Aleister was finding himself in a difficult situation. He had considered hiring out the Thieves Guild, but he did not relish the idea of crawling back to them. Besides, he had far better confidence in his own abilities. This brought him to the idea of burglarizing the artifact himself, but of course that plan had no shortage of difficulties either. For starters he had no clue where to begin looking as the layout of the College was completely unknown to him. It was also likely that the grounds had magical barriers to either keep his kind out, or alert Savos to their presence. As a result, the only realistic option Aleister had come up with was assembling a small army of followers, raising a further army of undead, and sieging the college in order to take in apart brick by brick and search for his prize. Make no mistake, The Lord of the Night was fully prepared to take such action. Much as he loathed the idea of exposing himself to the world once more, it would be more than worth it if he got what he came for. Still, Aleister Zachaeus was nothing if not patient. As such he would be going down every avenue before doing anything drastic. Thus he was brought to the skeever-hole of society.

Redwater Den had remained much the same as when The Order had created it half a century ago. It was nothing but profit. The facility was rundown, the workers paid next to nothing, and the customers hopelessly addicted. Hundreds of establishments just like it were in place all across Tamriel. They had been feeding The Order extra income since the late Second Era. When one was shut down by the law, another opened. Such was the way of dealing in Skooma. Yet Redwater Den was the newest, and the first of its kind. A prototype if you will. The High Court had been musing with ideas to further increase profits for quite some time. It was during this time that a relatively young vampire named Venarus came before the court with the idea of using one of the ancient Bloodsprings in Skyrim to increase skooma's addictive qualities. The court allowed him to run the establishment as a reward for his ingenuity. In other words he was the fall man if anything went awry. However so far the institution had been performing marvelously, and with the added benefit that the blood kept the addicts alive even longer to continue feeding The Order's coffers. Plans were already being made to mimic Redwater Den all across Tamriel.

As he approached the dilapidated structure that led into the den, a chill night wind bit through Aleister's many layers. It seemed no amount of clothing could keep out the damned cold. Still, being in the wilderness of Skyrim near three in the morning had one awesome aspect: the night sky. Tamriel's two moons glowed softly, surrounded by a sea of starry lights. Stars, and colorful nebulae painted the sky from east to west. An Aurora Borealis effect completed the dazzling display, the blue and green colors dancing gently along the horizon.

Aleister knew it was only an illusion, his mind attempting to understand something it could not, as he gazed directly into the Aetherium and beyond. In spite of that knowledge, he could not deny its beauty. The vampire pulled his eyes from the sky, and advanced through the doorway. He came quickly to the fireplace where a lone lookout was taking a comfortable looking nap. Aleister rolled his eyes. He slit the watchmans throat for good measure, and stole inside through the trapdoor entrance.

The first thing that hit him was the smell, causing him to gag slightly. A half dozen junkies in soiled clothes ensured the place reeked of body odor and human excrement. Zachaeus chose not to breath until he left the place. It wasn't as if he needed to, after all. A doorman directed him lazily towards the dealer, who was behind a fixed metal cage, presumably for her own protection. The Bosmer woman smiled crookedly.

"Haven't seen you around here before, have I?" she wheezed. The question was followed up with a small coughing fit. Aleister shook his head in pity. He was under the impression that none of the employees were users. Not that it mattered, they were replaceable.

"I'm here to see Venarus Vulpin. Take me to him," Aleister demanded. The woman looked somewhat confused and more than a little distressed.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered. Aleister chuckled, flashing her a smile that was all fang. Her eyes widened. She instantly became fidgety and broke into a cold sweat. She nodded her head rapidly for a few moments before responding. "Here, here. Through here. Quickly. Come on," she stammered, ushering him into the cage and behind it into a small storeroom. She pointed ominously at the room's only door. The vampire toyed with the idea of killing her, but it was clear from how uncomfortable she was around his kind that her masters were visiting atrocities upon her body and mind far worse than death. The thought of such acts brought another smile to Aleister's lips, and he continued through the doorway.

The door led into a small chamber, more off a cave really, that led into the Bloodspring itself. Aleister sniffed the air gently. It smelled foul and unnatural, and not in the way he liked. He looked closer at the fountain of blood in the middle of the room. Rather than a bright and pure red, the liquid was brackish and dark. It seemed a gross semi solid sludge that barely flowed. Some taint was within the well, and Aleister made a mental note to have someone investigate the matter.

Moving further into the den, he came into the best chamber yet, clearly where Venarus made his home. Cages and torture equipment occupied one end of the room, while alchemy and enchanting materials had been set up at the other. A long table was occupied by two vampires feeding on a drugged victim. Goblets of dirty blood lay all around the room. Vulpin had been doing alright for himself.

The first to notice Aleister's presence was a young dark elf vampire. He snarled ferociously at the intruder. "Who dares enter?" he barked. The elder vampire cocked his head to the side in confusion. He was unused to such treatment from his own kind. The two seated vampires looked up from their meal. They were visibly shaken when they noticed who had entered their home. One of them attempted to call off the young vampire, but it was too late.

The newborn drew into a crouch and then launched himself at Zachaeus. He flew with unnatural speed, far faster than any mortal could have in his wildest dreams, and yet to Aleister it seemed he was moving at a snails pace. Time slowed almost to a standstill as the ancient and powerful vampire focused every bit of his senses on the present. He was aware of every molecule in the room, in every possible way. His understanding of the moment grew beyond the five senses and into a magical understanding that encompassed the beyond the scope of the physical. In that moment nothing seemed to move, and yet Aleister Zachaeus was thinking and reacting to his surroundings. The crazed newborn seemed suspended in mid air. His mouth open wide, fangs bared, and screaming a blood starved howl. Meanwhile the ancient vampire judged his assailant's reaction time, the angles of his attack, and how quickly he would be able to adjust his short flight when he saw Zachaeus move. When Aleister had satisfied himself with a plan, he allowed time to move again.

The newborn once again moved fast enough to become a visual blur, but when he stopped he was already dead. Aleister had taken half a step forward and plunged a clawed hand under the ribs of his startled attacker. He held him in midair with his taloned hand gripping the newborn's unbeating heart. For a moment everything was still, and then he violently tore the organ out of the young vampires body. The dark elf dropped to his knees, staring first at the gaping hole in his abdomen and then at his own bleeding heart held in Aleister's grip. The two other vampires stared slack jawed. At this moment Venarus and two of his thralls rounded the corner, ready to combat whatever threat presented itself. They stopped dead in their tracks at the grisly scene laid out before them. Lord Zachaeues growled predatorily and dropped the bloody heart. He stepped in slowly and placed his hands on the young Dark Elf's face. Zachaeus twisted savagely, hearing vertebrae crunch and flesh tear, and jerked the head from the body. He rolled the macabre trophy towards the assembled vampires. Its cold eyes stared up at them, frozen with horror. Finally the body slumped to the ground, its black vampiric blood pooling on the floor around it. Aleister fixed them with a ghoulish smile.

"My lord," Venarus breathed. At once, the three vampires prostrated themselves before his majesty. The two thralls hesitated momentarily and then hurriedly followed suit. "Forgive me. That whelp was turned only yesterday. His bloodlust must have blinded him from your greatness, my liege." Vulpin trembled as he spoke. He could feel the power emanating from his lord Zachaeus' mere presence. His very form glowed bright crimson, and Venarus averted his eyes. They were hardly worthy to look upon such omnipotence.

"No need for apologies Venarus. I come in need of your aid," Aleister pronounced. His voice was soothing to the vampires. From the first word to the last each of them felt obligated to listen and to lend their help. Vulpin was not sure if he was truly speaking, or communicating directly into his mind, so captivating were his words.

"Of course Lord, of course. I was not prepared for your coming, but I will lend all assistance I can muster. What is it you ask of me?" Vulpin inquired.

"I wish to infiltrate the College of Winterhold in order to acquire an item of some value to me. I have need of a thrall in order to do this as they recognize our kind, but I do not wish to enthrall anyone for reasons I keep to myself. Lend me your most capable servant. That is all I require," Aleister commanded.

"Of course I would be glad to provide this service, but I may know of an easier solution to your dilemma Lord Zachaeus. I have a contact in the college, a Bosmer named Enthir. He is rather adept at acquiring items, especially those of some value," he explained. Aleister nodded intently.

"Very well. Arrange a meeting in three days time at Winterhold's local inn. Tell him to order a dozen ales when he arrives." With that, Aleister spun sharply and began to leave the way he had come.

"My Lord!" Vulpin called out. "Winterhold is nearly six days travel from here," he explained. Aleister halted. He turned to glare at Vulpin. His eyes held promise of death. "Very well." Venarus spoke dryly. "Three days." Aleister nodded once and continued his exit.

As he left the den he heard the Vampires whisper to each other quietly from hundreds of feet away. "Could that really have been him? Was that truly the Bloodfather?"


	4. Chapter 4: Biting Off More Than You Can

Well that last chapter was very supplemental, not as much plot heavy. Oh ya except WHO THE F**K IS ALEISTER ZACHAEUS? And why did they call him the bloodfather? (and someone got their head ripped off, ouch) Thanks to DarkUriel for the review and question. All things will mesh perfectly with existing lore: trust me I'm doing all kinds of homework on that. The main goal is to add lore friendly content that fills in missing time from before notable quest lines, or answers some of the unexplained stuff from the game. Anyways this Chapter will get some new characters from the game and expand the plot while taking a break from our (Evil) protagonist. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew

"I'm trying to save lives here, and your only interest is coin?" Isran shook his head in distaste. He had heard that there was honor among thieves. Clearly that was a falsehood.

"Don't talk to me about saving lives. Your motives are nothing so noble. I know your story old man," Mercer Frey spat back. "You're in it for revenge and hatred, nothing more. 500 septims and I'll tell you what you want to know. Otherwise, I'd like you to leave now." Isran gritted his teeth.

"You disgust me. Forget it," Isran told him. Mercer Frey motioned them to leave. Isran gritted his teeth. He should beat the man for his insolence, but not here and not today. "Come on Sorine, lets leave this filth." The breton girl stared down Frey for a moment, daring him to make a move, and then followed her partner out of the Ragged Flagon and into the city of the Rift.

"It doesn't make any sense. The roar everyone is talking about. I've never heard of a vampire making a sound like that. Just because some stranger shows up and then disappears doesn't make this a vampire case," Sorine observed as the two vampire hunters made for the local inn. Isran stopped walking and turned to face her.

"Sorine, two known affiliates of the Thieves Guild are found dead. One of them was drained of blood-"

"And the other was nothing but bones and ash. Never heard of vampires doing that either Isran," she interrupted. Her Redgaurd mentor pursed his lips.

"A little destruction magic then. Hardly uncommon for a vampire," Isran pointed out. "And don't forget about this girl, Mjoll. Seduced by some stranger and then forgets all about it? Illusion magic is a vampire trademark Jurard. Either way the point is, something foul was in this city. I plan to kill it." Isran didn't wait for a response. He continued on down the road. "We'll stay at the inn again tonight, keep asking around," he told her. She nodded and followed him down the drab streets of Riften.

The two of them took a room upstairs, though they had to shell out a ridiculous amount of coin to not end up on a cot in the cellar. They ate in silence, both of them frustrated by a wealth of questions and no real answers. When the time finally came to sleep, Isran shifted around uncomfortably.

"I suppose I'll just.. ahem, sleep on the floor tonight," he told Sorine.

"No…" she said. Isran stared at the girl. So young and naive, and yet she had a fire that rivaled any warrior he'd ever met. She reminded him of his wife. He shook his head at her and her face fell in dejection. Before either of them could respond, they were alarmed by a creaking floorboard just beyond the door.

They were moving immediately, hundreds of hours of training and drills allowing them to react without thinking. Isran snatched up a silver crossbow and rolled across the bed to take cover behind it. Sorine unsheathed a dagger and dashed to the door, silently putting her back to the wall. Ten seconds went by. They both remained perfectly still, eyes trained on the door.

Slowly, it began to creak open. A man stepped in cautiously. In a flash Sorine Jurard was behind him, with a blade pressed to his throat.

"Don't move!" Isran shouted, popping up from behind the bed. His crossbow was trained at the intruders chest.

"Wait!" the man shouted. He put his hands in the air, but Sorine just pressed the knife closer into his neck.

"Name yourself, Nord," she commanded him. Isran remained silent and unmoving.

"My name is Brynjolf, of the Thieves Guild," he told them slowly. Sorine grunted.

"Give me a reason not to put a bolt in you, 'Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild,'" Isran threatened. Brynjolf swallowed hard before answering.

"I have information," he said. "I think you'll want to hear me out." Isran paused for a moment, then nodded to Sorine. She reluctantly removed the dagger from the thief's throat and shoved him roughly into a chair. Isran lowered the crossbow to his hip, but maintained his aim at Brynjolf's heart. Brynjolf glanced back and forth at the two of them. Both wore the same expression, cold resentment. He was unsure of what to do next, and more than a little afraid. He had been in the face of death many times before and as a thief was no stranger to tense situations, but there was something different about this man Isran. There was a madness in his eyes and no humanity to be found. Brynjolf felt he was being looked at as a tool rather than a man. His life meant nothing to Isran.

"Speak," Isran commanded. "Do it well and you may walk out of here." Brynjolf nodded.

"Look, Mercer may not have wanted to share any of this with you, but that's all just part of his act. Always too big to be worried. Too tough to be scared. He just doesn't want to seem panicked you know?" Brynjolf waited for some acknowledgement, but received none. "Right," he continued. "Well I know what I saw, and trust me, it is reason enough to be scared. I have no shame in that. The-"

"Get to the point thief," Isran growled. Brynjolf nodded again and took a deep breath.

"Two nights ago something came into the cistern. I don't know what it was, so don't bother asking. Could've been a vampire but I've never seen one like this. One thing's sure: it wasn't a man. It appeared in a cloud of bats like somethin outta old folklore. Then started askin where Gallus was. Course anyone in Skyrim knows Gallus has been dead for some time now. Mercer tried to talk tough and bully him around, but it was like a game to the thing," Brynjolf explained. He shook his head solemnly as he remembered what happened next. "It killed two of our newer members. It all happened so fast. One moment it seemed Mercer had him scared. The next…" he trailed off. "They never even had a chance. His speed and ferocity… I've never seen anything come he was back to Frey, askin about some dwemer artifact from the college for who knows what. When he'd heard enough, poof. He vanished the way he'd come," Brynjolf finished. He looked at Isran for some expression. Nothing. A moment passed and Isran cleared his throat.

"Get out," he ordered, motioning with his crossbow. Brynjolf rose slowly and made for the door. He nodded his farewell to Sorine, who returned the gesture. Isran slammed the door behind him. He turned to Sorine, who raised an eyebrow.

"Makes a little sense now. The bats, the roar, the magick. You were right. Sort of," Isran began to explain. "We aren't dealing with a vampire, at least not like you know them. There is another breed. This one far, far less common and far, far more powerful. These bloodsuckers are usually pure blooded, though in a few cases they've spread the curse second hand. It's not a gift given lightly." As Isran explained he began to pack his things. Sorine followed suit without question, still listening intently. "How one becomes a Vampire Lord is a well guarded secret, but I've seen their abilities first hand and they're nothing to be trifled with. As far as I know there are only three, maybe four, in all of Skyrim," Isran finished. He picked up his gear and made for the door, with Sorine close held on to her inquiry until they had left the inn altogether.

"So where are we headed?" she asked.

"This job's too big for the two of us. We're going to see Keeper Carcette at the Hall of Vigilants," Isran told her. Before she could protest, they were joined by a panting Riften guard.

"Isran! Isran!" he called to them. "Sir, something I think you should see. C'mon!" Without waiting for a response, the soldier led them out to the Riften docks. They drew up on a cluster of guards at the water's edge. The stench of death hit them from ten yards away. Sorine gagged and Isran grimaced.

"This burlap sack washed in from the river only a few minutes ago. The contents… Well, see for yourself," the guard explained cryptically as they pushed through the gathered crowd. Spilling from the bag were two corpses. One was a young Nord. His throat was slit so deeply that his spine was visible as his head lolled back. The other was a dark elf mutilated beyond recognition. His abdomen was torn open, letting organs spill freely onto the ground. His head was missing, though Isran thought he saw it still in the bag. Overall a grisly mess of brutality and savagery.

As Sorine and the rest of the assembled guards tried desperately to hold onto their last meal, Isran knelt to investigate the bodies more closely. Despite being drenched in river water, it was apparent that the Dark Elf had no red color to his blood or organs. The guards looked on in horror as he fished around in the bag and pulled out the victim's severed head. He lifted the upper lip and, sure enough, found razor sharp fangs. Isran swore and stood up.

"Vampire," he announced. "Burn them both," he instructed the guards. He spat on the corpses before leaving with Jurard. They made for the stables where they retrieved their horses. As they mounted, Isran spoke decisively. "We make for the Hall of Vigilants Sorine," he told her. He received no protest as they rode swiftly off into the frigid darkness.


	5. Chapter 5: College Life

Ohhhhh yaaaa Isran is in this shit! In case you didn't catch it, this is before the creation of the Dawnguard and all events in that quest. Should be obvious but maybe some people weren't paying attention. Isran and Sorine Jurard will have interlude chapters every now and then but for now we are back to our nefarious fiend of a friend: Aleister. Warning! Things get a bit gruesome in here. If you have a weak stomach you may want to skip this one.

* * *

Chapter 5: College Life

The Frozen Hearth was an inn that provided services alike to the Bee and the Barb. The similarities stopped there. Where the Bee and the Barb had been filled beyond capacity, the Frozen Hearth had few guests if any. While the Bee and the Barb had plenty of food and drink to go around, the Frozen Hearth's storeroom was nearly bare. The contrast between the two Inn's was staggering, but not unexpected. It was quite clear to Aleister that Winterhold had never recovered from the Great Collapse nearly a century ago. He found himself wondering how different the city' condition might be if Savos Aren had not refused aid from The Order. Not only would the city likely be the thriving and prosperous hold capital it once was, but the vast majority of it would be under direct influence or control of The Order. What an opportunity they had missed.

Aleister had arrived earlier this morning, and had found the place to his liking: somber and unwelcoming. The inn had only one resident other than the owners. He was clearly a mage, though he hadn't left his room since Lord Zachaeus had arrived. Now the vampire sat alone at a bare wooden table, waiting for his contact to show.

The contact he was waiting on was a mischievous wood elf named Enthir. Years ago he'd established a name for himself in Skyrim's underworld by using his membership and status at the College to fence rare and magical items to those with enough coin. He was not confrontational by nature and as such his position in underworld politics suited him well. He was a middle man. He never chose sides, backstabbed, chose favorites, or ripped anyone off. He made his coin and went back to his private and comfortable life. As a result, Enthir was hardly ready for what he was about to walk into, both literally and figuratively. Had he known this, he would have turned around right then and there. Luckily for Aleister he continued to plod through the heavy snow that covered the bridge connecting the College to the rest of Winterhold as he grumbled his way through the cold to meet his mysterious summoner.

He arrived at the Frozen Hearth feeling quite frozen himself thanks to Winterhold's unforgiving winter weather. He stomped the snow off his boots before entering the poor excuse for an inn. Were it not for the College, Enthir doubted Winterhold would even still exist. He noted the taproom's sole occupant as he approached Dagur, who tended the counter. The man's face was obscured in shadow by a black fur hood attached to a heavy cloak of the same material. As he peered into the darkness of the man's hood, he thought he saw his eyes tracking him across the room. Enthir guessed it was his contact, but there was only one way to be sure.

"Dagur," he greeted the innkeeper with a friendly nod. "I'd like a dozen ales," he said slowly and articulately. He waited for a response, or any reaction at all, but Dagur simply stared at him unblinkingly. Enthir waved a hand in front of the barkeep's face. He snapped his finger. Still there was no reaction. The wood elf rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was going mad. Then a thought dawned on him. He whirled around, coming face to face with the hooded man from before. Only now, at such close proximity, he could tell it was no man. Under the faint shadow of his hood, he could clearly see two glowing crimson eyes and a wicked smile with dagger-like canines.

"Shit," Enthir breathed. Then everything went black.

* * *

Enthir awoke in complete darkness. Were it not for the frigid cold that clawed at his cheeks he would doubt he had awoken at all. The rest of his senses returned one by one. He could hear the wind howling, but it sounded distant. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat a glob of it into the blackness. Then a dull pain rose on the side of his face. As his nervous system woke up, he was acutely aware of his face being largely swollen on the right side. He attempted to bring his hands to his face and feel out the damage but he found them bound tightly behind his back. He recognized that he was seated, and tried to rise. Again he was unsuccessful. It seemed he was tied to a chair, in pain and in darkness.

Out of the infinite darkness a terrible laughter echoed around Enthir. His spine tingled at the malevolence in the voice. Was he dead? Was he in whatever hell had awaited him? Another burst of cruel laughter made Enthir rattle in his bindings.

"Who's there?" he called out weakly.

"Wouldn't you love to know?" the voice mocked. Enthir shook the terror from within him and mustered all the courage he could.

"I'm not scared of you," the Bosmer pronounced.

"Then you are a fool, little elf," the voice countered.

"Just tell me what you want!" Enthir shouted into the darkness. No answer came, and so Enthir waited.

He could not judge the time that passed as he sat alone in the dark. His head was pounding, his face face felt shattered, and his blood was freezing over ever so slowly. For hours he waited, though it felt like days. The blackness around him was so profound, so devoid of any light, he wondered if perhaps he had lost his vision altogether as a result of whatever beating he had taken. The only other explanation he could produce was that they were deep underground. But then why was it so damn cold? A million scenarios whirled around in his head, but he was too dazed to be able to sort them. Where had his captor gone anyway? Had he left him here to die? Enthir felt sick to his stomach. He hardly thought he was getting out of this alive.

Then, from somewhere beyond, Enthir heard a sound. It was far away and still unrecognizable. It quickly grew louder and louder, closer and closer. A child. A small child crying and screaming. Enthir grit his teeth as the sound grew deafening, as though the baby were right next to him. Quickly other sounds joined it. Screams echoed around him. Shouts for help followed by the tearing of flesh and always more screams. Screams of terror, of agony, and everything in between. One by one the shrieking and wailing of dozens of men, women, and children all joined together in a profane chorus of anguish and torment. The screaming continued for hours. It tore at his eardrums and rent at his mind, quickly stripping away his sanity. Soon he was adding whimpers of his own to the dissonant maelstrom, but those fell away in the first hour as his mind numbed to the pain.

After what seemed an eternity, the sounds ended all at once. Enthir didn't even notice until a ball of light returned his attention to the real world. He was now sure that his right eye was swollen shut. The blue light floated lazily towards Enthir, almost evoking a peaceful feeling. The light was very dim, and floated above the Bosmer's head. It cast a small circle of visibility around him, no more than four feet. It took a long while for Enthir to notice the man standing just outside the circle of light.

Enthir recoiled in shock. He stared warily at the man, but quickly determined he was not his captor. His expression was of despair, his clothes were ragged, and his knees and lip were bloodied. He looked as though he wished he was dead. He took two staggering step towards the captive elf, keeping his eyes on the ground. He halted abruptly, like he was being jerked around. That's when Enthir noticed the dark figure behind the man. Enthir whimpered in broken fear. Without warning the man's head was jerked up, his face staring directly into Enthir's only two feet away. A wicked talon was placed on the man's neck.

"No," Enthir moaned. "Please. Please, you don't need to do this. Why are you doing this?" he sobbed. The talon dug deep into the man's neck. His eyes showed his terror as they stared into Enthir's, silently pleading for help as a drop of blood trickled down his neck. Then the claw slowly began to open the man's neck from ear to ear. Blood jetted from the fatal laceration, some of the warm liquid splashing onto Enthir's face. He spluttered and choked as he drowned in his own blood. His shadowed killer held him up though his legs gave out, forcing Enthir to watch as the man spasmed and writhed in death. Finally, the body was dropped callously onto the ground in front of Enthir, still twitching gently in a pool of his own vital fluid. The captive wood elf wept openly, and the light above him was snuffed out.

Again he was left in silence and darkness. Enthir no longer cared why he was here, or who was responsible. He no longer wished to escape or even live. He would be content with death, if it ever came. Thinking of this he allowed his head to sag wearily and began to drift into an oblivious slumber. No sooner had his eyes closed than he was jolted awake by pain. He twisted and jerked violently to escape the agony searing through his leg. He quickly smelled burning meat and looked down to see a red hot iron being pressed into the flesh of his thigh. His screams rent the night for hours to come. Enthir's captor had other, more inventive methods of torture planned for his guest.

* * *

48 hours later

This time when Enthir awoke it was anything but dark. For a moment he could hardly breathe as brilliant, dazzling white light blinded him. It was several minutes before his eyes adjusted and his vision returned. His clothes were covered in a fine powder as snow laden winds swirled gently around him. It all seemed very surreal. He was sure any minute he would be dragged back into the hell from which he had come.

The thought made him realize how perfectly unobstructed his vision was. His hand flew to his face, feeling its now flawless complexion. The bruising and swelling had disappeared completely. Before he knew it Enthir was checking every inch of his body. The hideous burns, deep cuts, terrible bruises and awful punctures were all gone, as if they had never been there at all. The elf panted in both relief and wary disbelief. Then he remembered.

The last words before slipping into unconsciousness. Those orders that had been seared into his soul. _Find Keening. Bring it to Jarl Sidgeir. Do not disappoint me_. Enthir shivered as he remembered the voice. He immediately set off in what he thought was the direction of the College, suddenly feeling very cold. He would not disappoint.

Perched on a cliff overhanging the young Bosmer merchant, Aleister Zachaeus felt quite pleased. His torture of the poor soul had yielded important results. Enthir's mind was deeply scarred, if not broken all together. The slightest hint that he may return to that dark place would send him over the edge. In consequence, he now placed the completion of his objective above his own life. For if he failed, surely death would not come quick enough. He would never give any information of his mission or who wanted it carried out, not that he knew anyway. No matter what other torture he underwent, it was ultimately sure to be better than ratting on his latest 'employer'.

Of course, similar results could have been more easily attained. Aleister's power of seduction was near unlimited in its capabilities, but he knew one important fact. Any magical influence would be detected by the member's of the college. A skilled magician may even be able to counter the curse and use it to track the caster's magical signature. Doubtless Lord Zachaeus could elude any pursuers, or simply kill them if it came down to it, but there was no reason to take the chance. Instead the torture method was invisible, and highly effective.

_Yes_, thought Aleister. _Go forth and carry out my will._ If it was in the elf's power, it would be done.


	6. Chapter 6: King of Kings

Before you continue, make sure to check out the last four paragraphs of the last chapter. I added a little bit of explanation there. For some it was unneeded, but others were maybe a little less understanding of the whole torture thing. Ok well after that gruesome sequence, things are getting dialed down. A little. Now we get to meet some new Vamps and the story's secondary character. He's another of my own creation so don't be looking for him in lore or anything. Here we goooooooo!

* * *

Chapter 6: King of Kings

Castle Volkihar had stood on the northern reaches of Tamriel since before the coming of man, though it went by a different name then. One lost to time. It was built by the Snow Elves to be a redoubt against their unfriendly kindred, the Dwemer. In the days of its creation, the architecture was considered a marvel, its walls seemed impenetrable, and its halls were known far and wide for their opulence. Long ago when the Snow Elves left their great fortress to seek refuge with their treacherous kin, it was soon snatched up by a very different group of individuals. A man named Harkon used the great castle as a stage to slaughter a thousand mortals in return for immortality for himself and his family. As a result, the castle's original state and purpose has been greatly perverted.

Where once stood a mighty bulwark to shield a fair people from disaster, now there was a bloodstained fortress where no refuge could be found. For any mortal who entered, only great horrors ensued. It's halls were filled with blood and death, and in its chambers slept the unliving. A macabre mockery of the once life saving structure. Naturally, Aleister Zachaeus loved the place. Its residents were another matter.

He approached the structure from its main entrance, padding silently across the great stone bridge in a rare moment of calm among the blizzards of the far north. A lazy bank of fog blanketed the castle and its surroundings, creating an eerie effect as Aleister peered out across the water and ice. Such a view could have been beautiful if not for the ever-present, looming shadow of the dreaded Castle Volkihar.

The vampire lord approached the gate with unmasked contempt as he readied himself for the fools to be found within. The gatekeeper was a frail old man who had seen too many winters to be any sort of credible source of security. However the prodigious wooden portcullis he operated would probably sufficient to turn around all but the most determined of attackers. Aleister was hardly impressed.

"Halt!" shouted the old man. The vampire continued to move closer to the gate. "I said halt!" the man repeated. When he was with arm's reach of the gate, Aleister finally stopped. He stood motionless for a long moment.

"Open this gate before I use a portion of it to stake you to the wall, old man," His Lord Zachaeus ordered. He didn't even bother to look at him when he addressed him.. The old man simply chuckled and shook his head.

"Look traveller, I don't recognize you so I know you're new around here," the gatekeeper croaked. "but you should know I'm no stranger to oddly specific threats. Nor am I frightened by you, big man," he finished with a crooked grin. The vampire lord turned to stare into his eyes.

"You should be," he told the man. As he gazed into the vampire's ancient crimson eyes, he had no doubt that his statement was true. They were like gateways into a realm of malice and madness. The smile disappeared from his face and he raised the gate. With that first dispute out of the way, the lord of The Ancient Cyrodiilic Order of Vampires entered the lair of the Volkihar.

Not much had changed since his last brief visit, some centuries ago. Aleister could see that the Volkihar still had their taste for grandeur and gargoyles as he approached the railing looking out into the dining hall. All eyes were on him as he took in the grand hall. The few dozen gathered vampires sat at two long wooden tables, with the exception of Harkon who sat on a throne at the end of the hall. The tables were laden with paralyzed feeding victims and goblets of blood, and a magnificent balcony hung over the throne. Thirty pairs of eyes stared unblinkingly at the intruder who stood at the other end of the vast chamber. At the other end, Lord Harkon rose from his throne to greet him.

"I had heard rumors of an unknown terror stalking the lands of Skyrim," smiled Harkon. "Imagine my surprise to find not some blood mad Lycan responsible, but rumors that the great Blood Patron was awakened once more."

"Indeed. It must have been quite a shock," replied Aleister. "Knowing that your one true superior was roaming once again, Lord Harkon," he sneered. Harkon's lips curled around his fangs as he held his tongue in check. He was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner.

"To what do I owe the honor?" he replied mockingly.

"Dragons," Aleister replied cryptically. He vaulted the railing and dropped into the hall. In tacit understanding, Lord Harkon moved swiftly from the hall and into his private chambers while Aleister followed close behind. When they had both disappeared into Harkon's quarters, the room erupted with conversation. Everyone wanted to know what had just occurred, and what it meant for their own political standing. Such was the way of the Volkihar herd.

Garan Marethi shook his head in distaste. The politics of the castle were quickly becoming more destructive than useful. That was when he noticed the new blood, Virgil. A young Nord, he had been turned only months ago.

In life his physical prowess had been less than impressive. Where he excelled was his quick wits and keen mind. Harkon had personally granted him the blood after he observed him successfully manipulate a large group of bandits into mounting a raid on Whiterun. As if those persuasive skills weren't impressive enough in their own right, the whole endeavor turned out to be a distraction that allowed him to steal information about troop placement throughout the hold. The hold's neutrality in the civil conflict made such information extremely valuable, as he had convinced both sides that they were soon to join the other. He sold copies of the documents to both sides for a king's ransom and then disappeared into the wind. Believing that such a keen mind would be very useful in acquiring the Elder Scrolls he desired, Harkon tracked him down and 'recruited' him to join the cause. Now Virgil sat alone, silently observing all that was happening around him. Garan approached him attentively.

"I imagine you are feeling quite lost, newblood," he observed. Virgil looked up at the sound of his voice, showing his unusual eyes. They were fully black, with no pupil or iris. It was an eye not uncommon amongst Dunmer, but unheard of amongst Nords. Garan wondered if the boy had some of his own people's blood in him. It would explain his slender frame, another unusual trait amongst the hardy men of the north. What was clearly Nordic in appearance was his hair. Long blonde locks fell almost to his shoulder, with one thick braid on the left side. His beard was the same color and braided into two forks. The contrast of his light hair and dark eyes created a sinister effect.

"Not so much lost. Merely puzzled," Virgil explained. He returned his gaze to the people around him. Obviously listening in on at least one conversation.

"And just what is puzzling you?" Garan asked.

"I was led to believe that Lord Harkon was the sort of 'king' of vampires, but that looked an awful lot like he was not in charge."

"Correct on both counts, young blood. Sort of. Lord Harkon is the king of the Volkihar and, by extension, all of Skyrim. However he is far from in charge of our guest."

"And who is this guest of ours?" Virgil inquired.

"His name is known only to a very select few, but he is known by our kind as the Bloodfather or Blood Patron," Garan paused to see if Virgil was still listening. His concentration seemed far away.

"Why is that?" Virgil asked without looking at Marethi.

"Well," Garen continued, "that's something else that few people know. The fact is that he is a pureblooded vampire like Harkon, and the ruler of another clan of Vampires located in Cyrodiil. It is the perhaps the only one older and more powerful than the Volkihar. Rumors range from him being the first vampire to him being an incarnation of Molag Bal himself." At this Virgil looked up and snorted in amusement and apparent dismissal. "Crazy as it may sound, the claim has some basis," Garen defended. Virgil knit his brow closely as Marethi continued. "The Bloodfather has been known to disappear for decades, and even centuries at a time. In fact he is only active a very small percantage of the time. Widespread belief is that he simply goes to sleep, but many wonder why. They speculate that during this time Molag Bal is returning to his plane of Oblivion, and when he is awake he is inhabiting the Bloodfather. This strange sleep cycle coupled with tales and accounts of massive displays of power make the rumors very interesting indeed." Virgil was nodding raptly.

"Very mysterious," he observed. Garan nodded his own head in agreement. "I dislike mysteries. I prefer facts," Virgil stated sternly. Garan smiled. He had a similar distaste.

At that precise moment, the hall fell back into silence as each occupant's enhanced hearing picked up the squeaking hinges of Harkon's heavy door. The two ancients strode in together. Harkon's visage was plastered with displeasure, while Aleister wore a delighted grin. Harkon cleared his throat regally.

"As always your timing is impeccable, friend." He almost spat the last word. "Seeing as I have a large dinner gathering already in progress, you are welcome to join us," the Volkihar offered with obvious disdain.

"No, I'm afraid I have other, urgent business to attend to," Aleister said, shaking his head graciously. With an ostentatious, mocking bow, the Bloodfather took his leave. Across the chamber, Virgil eyed his every step. While the rest of the vampires exploded back into their raucous dinner party, the newborn took his leave.

* * *

Aleister believed the meeting with Harkon had gone quite well. All things considered, his fellow pureblood's fear still outweighed his ideas of chivalry and honor. No attacks were coming from the Volkihar any time soon. Still, he had seen a considerable number of fully aged vampires present. This meant that if they wanted to , the Volkihar could represent something of a threat. Some formal treaty would need to be drafted soon. For now however, he had a different task at hand. He was hungry, and tonight he would feast. He considered possible feeding grounds as he crossed walked in the dark of night upon the ice capped waters that stretched from Castle Volkihar to the shores of Skyrim. All of the sudden a hand appeared from beneath the ice, snaring Aleisters ankle in a freezing iron grip.

He snarled ferociously and yanked his foot up, pulling his attacker through the ice. An entire body came through without breaking the thin sheet of ice. Only vampires of the Volkihar clan had this ability. Aleister grabbed the vampire by his long blonde hair and jerked him up off the ground to see his face. He was taken aback by his eyes. They were jet black despite his obvious Nord blood.

"I was only trying to startle you," the young vampire chuckled. "I guess it worked," he said wryly. Aleister sneered. "Are you going to kill me then?" Even as he asked the question he didn't seem very concerned about the answer. Aleister released him and stared in perplexity.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Virgil. Kinda the newcomer around here," explained the Volkihar Nord. Aleister huffed in amusement. Never before had he met a vampire with the courage to try and prank him. He found it quite amusing, if immature. Though Aleister could tell that the whelp had been young in life, no more than twenty winters, and he had not been a vampire long.

"Tell me Virgil, what brings you out here away from the party?"

"Hardly a party, that dull affair. You seemed much more fun than all those ice-hearted bastards," Virgil said cheerily. Lord Zachaeus almost laughed.

"Come. Join me in a hunt Virgil," Aleister said as he began walking again.

"There were plenty of thralls in the castle, why not just feed there?" asked the youngblood.

"I do not wish to feed. I wish to hunt."

"There's a difference?" At this the elder vampire turned to roll his eyes.

"You have much to learn, Virgil," stated Lord Zachaeus. "When we feed we seduce those with power into giving us their blood. For blood is our power, and the more powerful our food source the more strength we can gain." Aleister noticed the young blood listening intently. It seemed he was no fool after all. "When we hunt we gain the same power, but we do it by testing our own strength against another. This is the more animalistic practice. For many of our lesser kin, it is all they know. For us, it is akin to sport," explained Zachaeus.

Virgil considered this as the two of them finally reached solid ground. It made sense to him, though he had never heard of any of the Volkihar mention such things. That made sense as well. They all seemed to carry themselves in high regard, believing they were far above the common rabble. He doubted many of them would enjoy a hunt much.

"So… what? We just hunt for the nearest group of men?" he asked his new teacher. Aleister halted to answer the question.

"Hunting down some rabble of bandits would hardly be a test of strength, don't you think?" he asked back.

"What then?"

"Right now, I'm feeling a particular lust for giant," Aleister replied with a mad grin. Virgil's face was struck dumb,

"Quite the appetite," he mumbled. Aleister chuckled.

"First things first. A proper hunt is always performed in the aspect of the beast," declared Lord Zachaeus.

"I'm not a pureblood" Virgil said.

With a gentle shake of his head, the Vampire Lord replied, "It's irrelevant. The form of the Vampire Lord and the form of the beast within are not the same. All vampire have an inner monster. A hungry, ravenous thing most of us learn to keep caged. Some, however, choose to live in such a state all the time, but they are usually mindless and separated from their sire. Those animals are the main prey of witch hunters, and also the way most men and mer view our kind. Still, these monsters sometimes create herds of their own. Those must be kept in check, lest they draw too much attention to the rest of us." Aleister could see that the youngblood was still lost. He sighed and continued, "Just follow me. As we run, give in to the bloodlust. Uncage that hunger inside of you. Let it control you and guide you to the kill. The change will come naturally." With no more explanation, the Bloodfather began a loping run up the hill before him, with Virgil close in toe.

As they ran, Virgil tried to concentrate on what Zachaeus had said. At first he felt little. However as the two of them gained speed, the hunger dawned on him. It was always there. That nagging, constant need for blood. It only disappeared as he fed, and reappeared immediately after. As he ran he allowed the hunger to envelope him. He grew hotter as he felt his diseased heart beat faster and faster. The poisoned blood of the undead coursed through his veins, and a red hot rage bubbled up from within him. He began to move without thinking: growling, snapping, and slavering like a starved animal. That's exactly what he was.

Aleister watched with mild fascination as the changes wracked the young vampire's body. His brow sank back as his jaw and nose extended into a snout like that of a wolf. His spine grew thicker and began to poke further out, until it was noticeably large and frightening. He tore his shirt off as he transitioned from his run into a loping sprint on all fours. His fingers elongated themselves, with razor sharp claws at their tips. Each tooth grew into dagger like fangs that barely fit into his mouth. He was no longer recognizable as a human. Such was the true form of the demon within all of Aleister's kin. Now Lord Zachaeus himself was ready to transform.

Aleister launched himself forward into the air with unnatural power, throwing up both snow and clods of dirt into the trees behind him. As soon as he left the ground his skin seemed to burst like and overfilled balloon. Fur as black as coal whooshed out as his skin tore and fell away. His limbs rapidly contorted into a set massive lupine legs, complete with claws and paws. His skull shattered and reformed in an instant, also into the form of a wolf, though he had a batlike nose and small, pointed ears. He returned to the ground like a hurricane, shaking the snow from any tree in a thirty foot radius. It had all happened in the span of two seconds. Now Aleister was essentially an enormous dire wolf, just over five feet at the shoulder. Being a pureblooded ancient, his beast form was far more impressive than that of his comrade's.

By now the two of them were tearing through the snowcapped landscape faster than a galloping racehorse. They dodged between the trees with a deftness and grace that would have been beautiful were they not such a horrific sight to behold. Moonlit shadows flitted through the underbrush, always a step behind the two monsters. Finally they came sliding to a halt on a rocky cliff overlooking a giant camp. They panted and and lolled their tongues, even if it was more from excitement than exertion.

Down below them the two giants present noticed them immediately. Even those colossal beings reeled at the sight of such unwholesome creatures. A blazing fire in the center of their camp illuminated the beasts in a frightening display of evil. The vampires wasted no time initiating their attack. As if on some mental cue, the two of them launched of the cliff simultaneously. Both aimed for the same giant, and their aim was true. Aleister contacted first, his titanic maw latching onto the giant's leg with bone crunching force. As the huge creature collapsed to its knees, Virgil impacted its abdomen. His claws dug into the giants belly, clamping him on like some hideous, oversized tick. The second giant was stunned momentarily by the suddenness and ferocity of the assault. That moment was all the vampires needed to uneven the odds.

Aleister released the mangled leg and tore a massive chunk from the giants side. Blood poured from the wound in a small river as the wolf spat out the torn flesh and lunged in for another bite. Virgil dodged a ponderous swipe from the bedeviled creature as he clambered up the giant like a deadly spider. He then plunged both hands deep into the giant's neck and tore his throat out brutally as he kicked off the poor things chest. A geyser of blood spattered him as he backflipped through the air and landed smoothly on the ground. The two vampires quickly circled their next victim, even as the lifeless carcass of their last kill was still impacting the ground. Speckled in blood, they were an even more barbaric and ferocious looking duo than before.

The remaining giant stood his ground courageously, but there was little he could do to ward off those terrors. They would dart in with preposterous speed and maim him, only to draw back just as quickly. Grotesque, elongated shadows danced and waved as the fire lit up their macabre dance of death. After several minutes the giant finally collapsed from exhaustion. He fell face first into the snow, staining it red as he bled out from a profuse array of lacerations and punctures.

The two abominable creatures licked their lips in anticipation and set about their feast. There was a hell of a lot of blood to go around, and they intended to drink every last drop. Dreadful howls, screeches, and roars could be heard for miles until the first light of day.


	7. Chapter 7: Of Monsters and Men

Its… ALLLLIIIIIIVEEEEEEEE! Yes, this fanfiction is not dead. It's undead! (See what I did there?)I know I have been gone for so long you had probably all given up hope, but I am back with a very loooong and awesome chapter. I have lots of excuses for my absence, but instead of writing those out I'll just write the next chapter! In case any old readers care, I edited the hunt from last chapter by adding a little dramatic lighting description. Maybe check it out. Also fixed some minor flowing and grammar issues from earlier chapters. That would be tough to spot but it should be good to know that I care lots about my work!

* * *

Chapter 7: Of Monsters and Men

Ok so, before everyone launches at me all like "Wtf is he a werewolf too?" NO! The concept of the beast form came to me when I was thinking about how a vampire's appearance changes as he hungers. In Skyrim you eventually look so inhuman that everybody just freakin attacks you. So what would happen if a vampire fully gave into that change? Voila you have beast form. Ok now that we have that out of the way, why a wolf? Wolves and bats have always been the animalistic representative of vampires. Dracula had the ability to turn into both. Seeing as the Vampire Lord form is more of a bat thing, I thought this should be a wolf. If you think this is too far deviating from Elder Scrolls… just remember how awesome it was when they killed those Giants :D Well now we visit Isran again because this intro is getting long…

Even when Isran was a part of the Vigilants of Stendarr, Keeper Carcette had been an insufferable bitch. Time had done little to change this. The fact that Isran and Sorine went to the Vigilants at all spoke volumes about the seriousness of their case. Not only did she almost wholly disregard the threat that vampires posed, she consistently mocked him openly about his concern. One day she would fall into the pit she was digging out around her, and it would not be a pleasant experience. Until that happened Isran would use her resources to the best end possible.

While Isran and Sorine were far more effective than any Vigilant alive, not to mention more driven, they simply lacked the vastness of the organization. The Vigilants of Stendarr had hundreds of agents stationed across Skyrim. With manpower like that, locating people was a much easier task for them. Isran hoped to use them to that end, and have them lend support when the actual fighting came.

The Vigilants stronghold in Skyrim was hardly an impressive building. Basically it was an oversized lodge located south of Dawnstar. The location wasn't key, and the position was hardly defensible. Overall it was a less than impressive base for such a vast operation.

Isran and Sorine approached The Hall in determined silence. Both were aware that it would take a lot of well reasoned explaining to get Carcette to commit to their plan. They drew up on the building and were blocked by two guards.

"Oh... Isran," said one of the men. He didn't sound very happy to see him. "What is it now you crazy old man?" the guard asked. Isran growled threateningly.

"Just get out of my way, pawns," he told them as he brushed them aside and made for the door. As it closed behind him he heard one of them mutter something about a lunatic. He and Sorine were immediately escorted to Keeper Carcette, who eyed them with unmasked contempt.

"Last I remember you were no longer a part of this organization. You walked away on account of our weakness I believe," she accused Isran. "Ringing a bell?"

"It does," replied the redguard. "But I come to you with a mutual interest, and the chance to bring Stendarr's mercy to a king among the horde of abominations in Tamriel."

"Go on," Carcette told him.

"I have tracked a vampire lord who I believe came into Skyrim from Cyrodiil. He is responsible for at least four deaths within the first day of his arrival, and more bodies are sure to pile up," Isran predicted.

"Let me guess. You would have me grant you an entire legion to answer to your beck and call? Are you sure they wouldn't be too soft?" She asked mockingly. Isran didn't seem to get the sarcastic humor.

"They would. That's why I'm merely asking you to have everyone on watch, and notify me when something comes up," the chiseled old veteran requested.

"If you think coming here and insulting my men is going to get you what you want, you're wrong," flared the Keeper.

"It wasn't an insult. More like… constructive criticism," he defended.

"Could've fooled me. Now, thanks for the heads up but I think the Vigil can handle this issue on its own."

"Carcette please listen to me," pleaded the vampire hunter. "We are not talking about just any vampire. This is a powerful creature, not to mention sadistic. One screw up, one moment of indecision, and you are dead. Most likely so is your family. You have to let me do this my way," he urged.

"We are not new to hunting abominations, despite your opinion," Carcette declared.

"Spare me," interjected Sorine. "This is not some mindless gang of daedra fanatics!" Isran held up a hand for silence, and she reluctantly held her tongue.

"Leave," Keeper Carcette commanded coldly. Several guards stepped in to escort them out. Isran began his exit but Sorine lagged for a moment. One of the men was eyeing her closely. When she noticed, he licked his lips provocatively and blew her a mocking kiss. Jurard turned as if she were going to leave, then quickly spun on her heel and rocketed an impressive right hand into the lusting Vigilant's jaw, knocking him out cold. Then with an icy flip of her hair, she followed her mentor out the door. None of the Vigilants blocked her path.

Their horses were roped up to a tree just out of sight from the hall. They made their way there in silence, as was Isran's custom. The rough old hunter was a man of action not words, but when he did speak it was important. Sorine had found that when he did speak, it was wise to listen. He did so as they mounted their steeds.

"You should mind your emotions, Sorine," he asserted.

"Give me a break Isran. That scum deserved what he got."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But be that as it may, it was not your place." Sorine quickly soured at his response.

"Why, because I'm a women?" she asked defiantly. Her voice was raised almost to a shout.

"Oh please," rumbled Isran. "No! Because you are supposed to be a professional. And that kind of reaction is exactly what I'm always telling you about! You let your emotions get in the way, your dead. We react based on our chances of survival and success, and nothing else," her mentor cautioned. "Your fire may be admired among some rabble of idiots, but it will do little when a bloodsucker's draining your corpse," he finished solemnly. Sorine gazed humbly at the ground from atop her mount. Isran did not wait for her as he spurred his horse down the hill and away from the Hall.

The pair of hunters did not speak for a long while after they'd left the hall. They rode hard due West without Isran telling where they were headed, finally dismounting upon reaching Morthal over six hours later. The two of them walked their steeds through the silent streets of the settlement. The air was unwholesome in some way. Tainted by darkness and death. The horses whinnied and shied away from going further into town. Isran didn't like the place any better, but the sun was already gone from the horizon, and a night spent in an oppressive inn sounded far better than camping on the haunted marshes of Hjaalmarch.

Isran paid the innkeeper, Jonna, for a single room, and ordered Sorine to bless and salt the place while he checked their gear and provisions. As she finished her tasks Isran called her to sit with him in the common area. They ordered two ales sat silently for a few minutes. Only three others occupied the room, including the innkeeper. A large Nord warrior who seemed to be finishing a late dinner shouted at the Inn's bard.

"Dammit Lurbuk, can I pay you shut up?" he cajoled. The Orismer bard merely grunted and wandered off to his room, assuring himself that everyone would come around eventually. Across the room Jonna chuckled.

"I try to tell him, I really do. Goodnight Gorm," she said to the warrior. Next she approached Isran and Sorine saying, "If there's anything you two need, just knock on my door. I'll be happy to help." With that, she retreated to her own quarters. Only a few minutes later the Nord she'd called Gorm finished his meal and left quietly. Sorine took the opportunity to finally break the silence.

"About earlier today…" she began, but Isran just waved a dismissive hand and shook his head.

"I know I'm hard on you, but it's for your own good. You know that. No need to apologize, or to talk about it at all, really," he explained. Sorine bit her lip and nodded in agreement. "What we do need to discuss is our next move," Isran continued.

"I assume you have one, considering you riding us to the bone all day," Sorine replied.

"Indeed I do, and you can expect more of that tomorrow. You remember when that traveller told us of vampires in Pinemoon Cave, just outside Dragon's Bridge?" Isran asked.

"Yes, but that was months ago. You think they would even still be there?"

"Aye," he responded "Bloodsuckers aren't known to relocate unless they're forced to, and I ain't heard of any other hunters up in those parts. I'd like to get there while we've still got some light, which means we're getting up early," the grizzled old redguard pronounced. Sorine sighed lightly. "Get some rest, I'll take first watch." Jurard put up no argument there, and was quickly fast asleep.

* * *

By midday of the next morning, the hunter and huntress had arrived in Dragon Bridge. It was nothing but a small settlement built around the key location of the Dragon Bridge itself. Normally the town saw little but wanderers and pilgrims coming to cross the ancient bridge, but in the tumultuous days of the civil war things were never so regular. Now both factions were constantly scouting, guarding, and assaulting the bridge. In Skyrim, control of the bridge meant easy military access to and from Solitude. As it stood both sides were considering attempts to destroy the bridge in the typical stubborn Nord fashion of denying the enemy what you can't have. Isran and Sorine cared little for any of the military and political goings on. Their mission was for the destruction of far more sinister beings.

"I have a good friend in these parts," Isran told Jurard. "His name's Azzada Lylvieve. Known him since we were young boys. He's a simple man these days, but damn good in a scrap. We'll rest up and eat with him, and head out while we still have a few hours of daylight." Sorine acknowledged him with a nod as they dismounted and made for the Lylvieve house.

Azzada greeted his long unseen brother warmly, and welcomed Isran and his companion inside. The house was simple, the beds and table sharing its one room on the ground floor. Other than that there was only a basement for storing food and goods. All the same the meal was good and the food was fresh off the farmland. Isran and Azzada recounted tales of their youth in Markarth, the first Sorine had heard of it.

"Remember that one boy at the orphanage? What was his name? Always saying the strangest things in his sleep, and eating anything he could find," Azzada asked. He and Isran laughed heartily in remembrance.

"Gerardus," Isran answered, sharing another laugh. "That boy was the size of a house," he finished with a chuckle. "By the divines those other boys teased him day in and day out."

"Till you had something to say about it, Isran" Azzada said more seriously "I'll never forget the beating you gave those three bullies. Though I must say, when you told me you were going to teach them a lesson, I figured you'd wash up in the gutters," he admitted.

"Really?" asked Isran somewhat incredulously.

"Well there were three of them!" Azzada defended, but Isran scoffed. "And they were all older than you," he added.

"Yes well, their age certainly didn't make them any wiser. It's the strong's duty to protect the weak. Not to subjugate them. Take advantage of them. The lesson needed to be taught," proclaimed the old hunter.

"Indeed," agreed his friend. "You taught it damned well, I should say." Isran nodded wistfully in agreement and took another sip of his ale.

Not an hour later they were outside and retrieving their horses and gear. Azzada gave them another week's provisions and made Isran promise to stop by again sometime soon.

"Be careful out there old friend," the farmer cautioned.

"That would be a hell of a lot easier knowing you had our backs," Isran offered. Azzada shook his head staidly.

"I put down the sword a long time. You know that," the farmer responded. "My duty now is to my wife and children." Isran agreed begrudgingly.

"Farewell Azzada. Take care of yourself." Without another word, Isran and Sorine rode towards their destination under the bright tundra sun. Before long Sorine voiced her inquiry. She'd remained mostly silent during their visit to the Lylvieve's, but could no longer resist.

"You never told me you were an orphan," she remarked subtly.

"I wasn't aware you needed to know," her mentor responded sternly.

"Fair enough." For a moment Isran was silent as they journeyed across the country side. The two horses threw up clods of dirt and vegetation with every galloping step. Suddenly he slowed his horse to a trot, and Sorine followed suit. She raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his gaze was cast downwards.

"That boy Gerardus..." he began, but paused. Jurard waited for him to continue. "Never hurt a fly…" He paused again. "He was killed when he was just sixteen by some thief. Tossed his body in the river for a bag of coin," he spat. Sorine thought for a moment about what to say.

"Sometimes the scariest monsters are the ones in mirror," she said thoughtfully.

Isran grunted before responding, "Maybe, but we haven't met this bloodsucker yet."

* * *

Pinemoon Cave was hardly a unique or impressive land feature in comparison to the rest of Skyrim. There were dozens if not hundreds of similar or more interesting caves scattered across tamriel's northern province, but the caves geological interest had nothing to do with Isran and Sorine's presence there. They were there to kill vampires, and to gather information.

The two killers looked down upon the entrance to the cave with professional interest. What looked like two black wolves prowled just inside the entrance to the cave. Even from over a hundred yards away it was clear they were not normal animals, but some massive, tainted creatures. With a few flashed hand signals, the duo leapt from their perch in a tree and sprinted the distance to the cave. The beasts guarding it noticed them almost instantly, but held their ground. At thirty yards both hunters slid onto one knee and leveled their crossbows. Isran now clearly recognized their quarry as death hounds. He curled his lip in disgust as they bounded towards him.

He exhaled a deep breath and squeezed the trigger, as his partner did the same. Isran's bolt flew true to its mark, its silver tip embedding itself between the monster's eyes before detonating in a fiery spray of blood. The death hound went limp and slid several more feet on the gravel. Jurard's aim was just as true, but her hound was faster. It managed to shift to one side in time to avoid death. Still the bolt impacted its rear right hip and nearly blew of one of his hind legs. It wasn't enough to stop it.

The death hound leapt the final ten yards towards the huntress. She dropped her crossbow and drew her knife as it hurtled through the air. She rammed her blade into its guts as it dashed her to the ground, but the thing still would not die. She braced her free arm in its throat in an attempt to avoid its slavering maw. Isran had already ditched his crossbow, knowing its explosive rounds would kill Sorine as well, and was scrambling to her aid. Just as the beast drew back to deliver its deadly bite, the vampire hunter's warhammer swept up and into its jaw, avoiding his partners own face by inches. The force of the blow hurled the thing of of her and rendered its face a mass of unrecognizable red gristle. It continued to twitch as the two reloaded their crossbows and continued into the bowels of Pinemoon.

As they moved through the first tunnel, the stench of rotting meat and the dead began to fill their senses. They kept moving. The first room was devoid of life, or unlife as it may be. There were a few bodies piled in the corner, and Sorine wondered if it had been food for the pets or for their masters. Isran flashed another series of hand signals and he and Jurard circled the edges or the chamber as they made for the next tunnel. Midway through the chamber a woman scrambled out from the darkness of the passage ahead. She looked wild eyed and mad, her hair a crazed tangle of unwashed filth and her body no cleaner. Still, she was human.

"Thrall!" called Isran immediately. Both he and Sorine sheathed their crossbows and drew arms. Iran rushed her while Jurard circled behind to cover the entrance and provide assistance if things went awry. The thrall was no older than twenty four winters, and was obviously untrained. Isran easily dodged her clumsy swipes with a rusted dagger, despite the madness behind them. After swaying away from a few more strikes, Isran swatted her blade away with his massive warhammer. While she stumbled back, he brought the pommel of his weapon up and struck her in the temple, knocking her out cold.

"Bind her, I'll watch the tunnel," he told his apprentice. She did so, and they moved deeper into the cavern. This tunnel was longer than the last, but only had one path to follow. So while Isran wasn't worried about getting lost, the narrowness did worry him. If they were rushed in the tunnel, he could hardly wield his hammer effectively, and Sorine would be unable to help him. He pushed the thought from his mind and stayed his course. They made it to the final chamber and warily crept inside. Even in the dim torch light, it was clear the room was empty.

"Look for a passage they could have escaped through," the veteran hunter immediately commanded. Before Sorine could comply, all hell broke loose. Three vampires dropped from the ceiling onto their unsuspecting prey. Isran used his crossbow to block an overhead swing from one of the falling bloodsuckers, then immediately used it to hook the monster's arm and pull him in close to his side. With his sword arm immobilized, the vampire was left to scratch feverishly at the Redguard's armor. Now that his line of sight was cleared, Isran squeezed a bolt into the second vampire. It impacted his dead heart and blew silver shrapnel into his organs, turning him into nothing but a pile of ash. The hunter then deftly disentangled himself from the other beast, drawing a silver stake as he did so. He used the crossbow to catch its wrist and elbow, breaking its arm backwards and forcing it to its knees. He finished the thing with a single violent stab from the stake into the back of its neck. Isran took great delight in watching it disintegrate into ash.

Meanwhile Jurard was fending off a flurry of strikes from the final assailant. It was clearly the most elder vampire, and knew how to handle itself in a fight. The bloodsucker wielded a thin ebony blade, light enough for him to allow his supernatural speed to have great effect. As things were, Sorine didn't think she could hold the thing off for much longer with her clumsy axe. Isran quickly intervened. He swept his warhammer in a great downward arc, but the vampire nimbly parried the attack as if the weapon weighed nothing. It wasted no time sending a brutal riposte back at the hunter before spinning around to launch a wide arcing swing at Sorine with enough force to split her at the waist. The girl was quick enough to roll under the attack and bring her silver edged war axe through the monster's knee like a knife through butter. The detached portion of the limp instantly flared into ashes. While it screeched in pain, Isran swung his hammer into the beast, landing what normally would have been a fatal blow. The entire left side of its ribcage was shattered, sending shattered bone into its heart and lungs and pulverising every inch of muscle and tissue. The vampire dropped to the floor of the cave, coughing up black blood from his ruptured organs. Isran knelt over the fallen hellspawn.

"Lets have a chat, shall we?" he said mockingly to the vampire. "What do you know of a new guy in town?" he asked

"New vampires made... every day," it spluttered back to him.

"That's not what I meant," Isran grunted. He pressed his knee into the vampire's wounded side in impatience. It wailed in pain, causing a hacking fit ending with coughing up more tainted blood. Isran released some pressure as Sorine watched, looking more than a little perturbed. "He's a big player among you vermin. Pureblood. Don't play dumb."

The vampire suddenly smiled, black liquid trickling from the corners of his mouth. "Oh, you mean the boss?"

"Who's boss? Yours?" Isran pressed.

"You don't get it," the beast said with a chuckle that sounded more like gargling water. "Not my boss, everyone's boss," he sputtered. "Your boss too, you just don't know it," it finished with a wicked grin.

"What is he, some sort of vampiric godfather?" the redguard asked.

"Bloodfather," the monster almost whispered.

"And how do I find this abomination?"

"You're in luck hunter," the vampire smiled. "Now that you know of his existence, _he_ will find _you_." After the last word, it broke into a fit of maniacal laughter, only stopping to expel the buildup of fluid in his lungs. The last laugh died in its throat, as Isran rose and drove his warhammer through its skull. He stared at the mangled corpse for a moment before turning to Sorine.

"You have any more of that dwemer oil?" he asked. She nodded she poured the fluid on everything that would light, Isran returned to the previous chamber and carried the unconscious, enthralled woman out of the cavern. When Jurard had finished, she found he had already retrieved the horses and loaded the woman onto his own. "We'll make for the Temple of the Divines in Solitude. The priests there can perform a more thorough purification than we could. Perhaps they can even fully restore her sanity." Sorine listened while she retrieved an old scroll from her steed. She walked back to the line of oil she had trailed out of the cave. She quickly recited the words of power written upon the scroll. On the last syllable the scroll disintegrated and from the ashes rose a bright orange ball of flame. She hesitated before lighting the oil, looking up at isran for permission. He nodded grimly. "Burn it all."


End file.
